A Long Way Down
by Glittering Pegasus
Summary: “It all depends on your definition of ‘dead.’ The law says I’m dead. I have a grave plot and a head stone. But I’m breathing, aren’t I?”


A/N: So this is what comes from English class, teenage angst, and way too much Alias. Also, no slash intended, but interpret however you choose. lol.

**Long Way Down**

_I was unconscious, half asleep  
The water is warm 'til you discover how deep  
I wasn't jumping, for me it was a fall  
It's a long way down to nothing at all "Stuck in a Moment"- U2_

* * *

I couldn't find any words, no matter how hard I looked. But what was I really to say? 'Why the hell are you here, you're supposed to be dead?'

"You… how?" I finally choked.

He laughed. "That's a good question, Gene. And there's an answer to it, but I wouldn't want to bore you." It was a perfectly characteristic statement for him, but the humor such statements had held in the past was gone. His voice was terse and sarcastic.

_Sarcasm is for the weak. _

Silence devoured my words again. "Finny. You're dead."

"I think that depends on your definition of 'dead.' The law says I'm dead. I have a grave plot and a head stone. But I'm breathing, aren't I?"

His eyes were different. Hollow, worn out. As though having seen too much in much too short a time. Not the eyes of a boy who had been the best at everything, eyes that had once glimmered with the humor and strength of a winner. Eyes that had smiled bemusedly at the reflection of himself in a flamingo pink shirt, or as his fingers had carefully weaved a Devon tie through his belt loops.

Eyes that had been closed forever twenty years ago.

Or so I had been led to believe.

"Why?" I demanded, acid in my tone that I couldn't erase.

He leaned up against the tree. "Well, I see the years haven't done much for your stiff disposition."

"Friends coming back from the dead don't do much for my stiff disposition."

He smirked. "So it would seem."

For a few moments, no more words passed between us. Finally, he sighed and pulled a leaf off the tree. Rubbing it between his fingers distractedly, he addressed me again, "This place hasn't changed much, has it?"

"Finny, please," I pleaded.

He looked up and dropped the leaf, nodding. "Right. My 'death.' Well, you know how I told you I'd been writing to every military group I could while in the hospital?"

I nodded.

"Remember how I told you I'd been rejected by all of them?"

"Yes…?"

"I lied. Turned out the army had a place for me. My letter was delivered to me in the Infirmary, care of Dr. Stanpole, and I was informed that, should I accept their offer, I was to tell absolutely no one."

I shook my head. "The army? But, your leg?"

He grinned and sunk to the ground against the tree, glancing ruefully at the referenced appendage. "All the better. No one would suspect an invalid of being a spy for the United States Army."

I had just taken a seat in the grass across from him, but now I froze again. "A spy."

"A spy. I can't tell you much more than that if I don't want to be hauled off by 7- foot tall, rifle flashing, hairy armed gentlemen tonight. I can't tell you where I was, or for how long, or what I did there. All I can tell you is that on December 26th, 1942, Dr. Stanpole was instructed to spread the word of Phineas Bowler's 'untimely death.' By the time the news reached you, I was already on a ship."

I tugged at the grass, taking all this in. I understood what he was telling me perfectly. It all made sense. But still there was one question tugging at my brain, never loosening its grasp. "Why? Why would you allow you friends, your family… the world… to believe you're dead? You had everything, Finny, you could have been anything. And you left it all behind. Why?"

"Why?" he echoed, and laughed sadly. "Because, Gene. Because I couldn't live on the sidelines any longer. Because I was so used to being the best, being the winner, that it had become a part of me. And the funny part is, I never thought I cared about any of it. Not until it was gone. People had always respected me, expected me to win. And suddenly, there I was in a hospital bed with a plastered leg that showed the world it had no need for me anymore."

"Finny, that's not true."

"Please, let me get this out. You wanted to know why, and I have to get this out. I was stupid. I was restless and frustrated and bitter, and completely not used to being restless or frustrated or bitter. I needed a way out, and I needed a way to feel useful again. And all those things that you said I had to live for? I didn't have everything, Gene, I had nothing. I didn't have my sports, my future… my spirit. I lost it all at the bottom of those marble steps. And I didn't have my best friend. It took me until then to realize it, but I'd lost him long before then."

"No you hadn't," I whispered. "I was just young and jealous and moronic."

"You were normal," Finny corrected. "Normal teenagers aren't like I was. Normal teenagers are supposed to be jealous and moronic, and resentful, and frustrated. I was never any of those things, not until that winter. And the truth is, I should have hated you back then. I should have felt a lot of things I hadn't and said a lot of things I didn't."

"You were a better person than the rest of us. And you never deserved what happened." I paused. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head. "Means as much now as it did then."

My blood dropped below freezing at his comment, unsure of the true meaning behind it. The only response I could generate was to nod slowly.

"Anyway, you look good, Gene. Older," he commented.

"You too," I answered automatically.

He stood up and brushed the leaves and grass from his pants. I followed suit.

"I can't believe you're alive." I suddenly confessed. My breath hitched. "I missed you."

He stared, again with those intense eyes that had not belonged to the Finny of my past. His gaze seemed to melt second later, as he answered, "It's good to see you again, Gene."

The silence was growing between us again. "How did you know I'd be here, anyway?"

His voice is quick and dry. "I didn't."

"…Oh." I had the sudden dropping feeling that time was, once more, slipping from my grasp. I realized then what was going to happen. "You're not staying, are you?"

He smiled sheepishly.

"Where are you going?"

He shrugged. "Haven't decided yet. But I can't stay here. I made my decision to leave this place behind fifteen years ago, and my mind hasn't changed since."

"I understand," I answered, and it was the truth. After everything, I owed him that at least. "You were my best friend, Finny."

"I know."

A breeze suddenly rattled the branches above us, gently tugging several leaves away and settling them quietly into the lake below. Finny looked upward, then back down to the lake. And slowly, a wide, mischievous grin filled his features. A grin I hadn't seen in fifteen years, one I had never expected to see again.

Before I could react, he was pulling himself, branch by branch, into the leafy roof above. Into the place that had once been a haven; the place that became his undoing. My undoing.

"Finny! What the hell are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing? Come on!"

"No."

"No? _No? _Some Secret Suicidal… something- or-other you are!"

I couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Fine!"

Slowly, I walked up to the tree and placed a hand against the bark. I carefully grabbed the first limb and swung my leg over it, took a deep breath, and headed to the second.

"You'll never make the 1960 Olympics at that pace," he called out. I snorted.

Finally, I reached the branch upon which he stood. The branch that had filled my dreams every night for thirty years.

I looked at him. He looked at me. "One more time, for nostalgia's sake?"

I wanted to say 'no.' But something inside wouldn't let me. Something inside knew that I had to do this; I had to make the jump I never made that momentous day, all those years ago. "I won't lose my balance this time," I told him. "I promise."

He nodded, understanding. Forgiving?

"Ready?"

"Ready."

I squeezed my eyes shut, and crashed into the glistening silver world below.

I emerged moments later, choking, sputtering, gasping for air. And laughing. Feeling better, lighter, more care free than I had in years.

I rubbed the sun-filtered water droplets from my eyes and searched the space around me, already losing energy from treading, all my clothes weighing me down.

My vision cleared, and still I could see no one. The lake was empty except for me. Not even a ripple remained.

**Le Fin **


End file.
